by Sam Westland
The next few weeks passed fairly quickly, possibly fueled by my dread of the approaching reunion. I called my parents to announce our plans, and was immediately met by a giant wave of guilt-inducing commiseration from my mother.
"Oh, I'm so glad that at least one of my daughters will be able to come and see your poor parents!" my mom enthused on the phone, making me wince from the sheer psychological weight of her emotional spear thrusting from the receiver.
"What about Susan?" I asked. "She never misses coming home for Christmas." Mainly for the chance to upstage our parents by making an even bigger scene, I added inside my head.
My mother sniffed loudly into the phone. "Apparently, she would rather spend her winter vacation partying with her friends," she complained. "Someplace slutty, I'm sure. Florida, or Mexico, or the Caribbean, someplace where two scraps of clothing is considered fully dressed."
I made the appropriate clucking noises into the receiver, working for her to work through her griping. In the back of my mind, however, I was feeling a spurt of jealousy - mingled with a hint of grudging admiration. My younger sister would definitely enjoy this Christmas more than I would.
"Well, we're going to drive out to your house two days before the twenty-fifth," I announced, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "The spare bedroom will be open for Alex and me, right?"
"Yes, I'll have your father move his things out," my mother said. "If need be, he can always sleep on the couch."
"Wait, what?" I broke in before she could go on further, my tone conveying the shock that I felt. "Is Dad sleeping on the guest bed all the time? I know that you two argue sometimes, but I didn't realize that it was that bad!"
"Oh, it isn't that bad. Rick is just often up later than me, and it's easier for him to just lay down on the guest bedroom so that he doesn't wake me up," my mom said quickly. Her reassurances sounded hollow to my ears for some reason, however, and I felt the sudden need to distance myself from the conversation.
"Well, great," I said, searching for an out. "Is Dad around? I could say hello to him."
There was a rustling sound from the other end of the line as my mother lowered the phone. "Rick!" I heard her bellow, the call repeated a second time a second or two later. Another rustling, and her mouth was back at the phone. "He must not be around, dear," she said.
"Where would he have gone?"
My mother made a rather vague noise. "Oh, he tends to disappear off every now and then," she commented. "I think he's probably just sneaking out to the back shed, or off to the local bar, to grab a drink and sit for a while. I don't usually worry about it."
I wrapped up the conversation and hung up, but my mind was anything but at ease. Occasionally, one of Alex's evening meetings with clients would end up running late, and I would be in bed and half-asleep by the time that I heard him opening the front door of our apartment. Despite the lateness of the hour, though, I'd never had a problem with him crawling into bed beside me. But I forced the thoughts from my head. For as long as I could remember, my parents had squabbled and argued. In fact, my entire family was dysfunctional in my eyes; I was glad that I had managed to escape.
*
On the twenty-third of December, Alex and I packed up our suitcases, tossed them into the back of my little hatchback, and hit the road, heading towards my parents' house. The day outside was chilly but clear, the crisp air enhancing the bright sunlight reflecting from white snow. The fields on either side of the road were coated in white, and the snow seemed to slightly muffle all sound from the world outside.
I had volunteered to drive, and Alex accepted the passenger's seat without protest. He seemed strangely quiet as we drove. His iPad was lying open on his lap, but his gaze was on the horizon, his eyes slightly unfocused. I didn't know what he was thinking about, but I decided not to interrupt his introspection.
When we finally pulled up in my parents' driveway, however, he snapped out of his fugue, climbing out to grab our bags out of the back while I headed up to knock on the door. "Looks like your dad could use a hand with the shoveling," Alex commented as he stomped through the six or seven inches of snow that covered the driveway.
"He'd probably appreciate some help," I said, struggling to avoid filling my own, shorter boots with snow as I tried to find the best pathway to the front door. This was a little confusing. For as long as I could remember, my father shoveled the driveway and steps, often to the point of obsessiveness. The tracks on the driveway showed that this snow wasn't fresh, but there was no indication that he had even made an attempt to clear a walking path.
I finally reached the front door and pressed the bell, hopping back and forth from one foot to the other as I tried to ignore the wet coldness of snow that had fallen into my boots. After a minute, my mother opened the door, and I happily piled forward into the warmth of the interior. Alex, a suitcase in each hand, was right behind me.
"Hi, Mom," I said, once the door was closed, and the three of us exchanged the usual assortment of hugs and hellos. A minute later, my dad appeared from around the corner, joining in on the greetings.
"Dad, why haven't you shoveled?" I asked, once everyone had either hugged or shaken hands. "The driveway and walkway are totally covered. You never usually let the snow pile up like that."
Hands in his pockets, my dad shrugged. This was the first time I had seen my parents in a while, and I was surprised to see that my dad had chosen to let his hair grow out much longer than usual, the dark gray strands reaching nearly to his shoulders. As well, when I had given him a hug, I had caught a whiff of an unusual smell coming from him. It vaguely resembled perfume, in the same way that a bag of McDonalds vaguely resembled an acceptable dinner. "I guess I just haven't gotten around to it," he replied. "Maybe Alex would be willing to give me a hand with it."
"Oh, I'd be happy to help out however I can, Mr. Jansen," my boyfriend chimed in quickly behind me. I knew that he was always willing to pitch in with any tasks around my parents; he had a tendency to try and stay on everyone's good side, and he had been working to win my parents' approval ever since they first met.
My dad nodded a couple times. "Good, good," he said. "And please, it's Rick. In fact, why don't we go and take care of that now? I'll grab my coat, and the you can meet me out in the garage." Before I could say another word to him, he bustled off down the hallway towards the mudroom and coat closet.
As Alex set down the luggage and followed my father, I turned to my mother, who had been holding back slightly behind us. Just as my father had grown out his hair and had acquired a strange new scent, my mother had changed slightly too. The wrinkle lines on her face were more pronounced than when I had last seen her, and instead of wearing her hair down in waves around her face, she had chosen to pull it back into a tight ponytail, giving her a rather stern, no-nonsense look. "Mom, how are things?" I asked, slightly unsure on how to breach the subject. "When we talked on the phone the other week, it felt like there might be something going on."
My mother gave me a tight-lipped smile in response. "Oh, it's nothing for you to worry about," she said, brushing off the topic. "Now, let's get you and Alex all settled into the guest bedroom." She grabbed the handle of one of our suitcases and bustled off, leaving me with no option but to follow behind her with the other suitcase.
We headed down the hall and into the guest bedroom, which, just as my mother had promised on the phone, was vacant and showed no sign that my father had been sleeping there. However, as we entered the room, I once again caught the faint odor that I had smelled on my father. My suspicions were definitely aroused - something was going on. My father had changed, and my mother seemed unusually on edge. But I doubted that I would be able to ferret it out of my mother. She preferred to sweep any secret she knew under the rug, bringing it out only for the purpose of gossip.
"Well, dear, while you settle in, I think I'm going to go out and do a bit of shopping for our meals," my mother called over her shoulder as she left the bedroom. "Wi
ll you be fine here?"
"Oh yes, I'm perfect," I replied. In my head, however, I was already feeling on edge, and I strongly suspected that this feeling would stay with me for the entire time while we were at my parents' house. From outside the window, I could hear the scraping of snow shovels on concrete as my father and Alex worked on clearing the driveway. I also couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards Alex. Why had he insisted that we come here?
*
The next two days passed slowly. Alex and I, just as I had predicted, often found ourselves sitting uncomfortably on the sidelines as my parents sniped back and forth at each other. My father would scurry out the door in the mornings, driving out to parts unknown, with no explanation given. After a day or so with my mother, however, I could understand why he wanted to escape. I remember occasional negative comments from my mother when I was younger, but in the last few months, she seemed to have magnified her complaining about, well, everything. In a single day, I heard her criticize everything from the clothes I chose to wore ("Honey, those don't show off your figure at all! They make you look frumpy!") to the level of service that we received when out shopping ("I swear, these cashiers couldn't move any slower! They're probably paid by the hour, trying to steal as much extra money as they can."). By the time that Christmas Eve dinner rolled around, I wanted nothing more than to wolf down my food and dash off to the escape of the guest bedroom.
Instead, however, I was stuck at the dining room table, staring glumly at the massive array of food spread out before me. My mother apparently channeled all of her frustrations into baking and cooking, and there was enough food now on the table for us to feed at least a dozen people. From the roast ham, to homemade breads and rolls, to an assortment of sauces, to potatoes, yams, beans, and salads - there was no way that the four of us would be able to even make a dent in this much food.
My father gave a brief grace, although he never raised his eyes from his empty plate, and then we dug in. I did have to admit that the food was delicious, and I made sure to tell my mother just how amazing it tasted. Alex didn't spare any enthusiasm either, and after the third or fourth compliment, I was amazed to see a genuine smile appear on my mother's face as she assured us that it was nothing, really, she had just followed the recipe on the box. Seeing her smile, plus feeling the warm food settling in my stomach, made me hope that maybe the night would end well. I should have known better.
The argument started out small, with my mother asking my father if he had finished shoveling the entire driveway and walkway. "I'll finish it, you don't need to nag!" my dad had shot back between mouthfuls of candied yams.
"Don't need to nag? I've been telling you that it needs to be shoveled for days, and you didn't even lift a finger until you had Alex here to do most of the work for you!" my mom retorted, waving a forkful of ham at him.
My dad groaned loudly, setting down his silverware with a clatter. "I've had a lot on my plate! I don't have time to always come running to take care of every little chore you throw at me!" he half-shouted across the table.
On the other side of the table, my mom wasn't backing down either. "A lot on your plate? Doing what? I have no idea where you spend your time! And it certainly isn't around here, taking care of anything that I need!" she yelled.
"Enough!"
Both of my parents and I turned in shock towards Alex. He had roared the word as loud as he could, and I swear that it echoed off of the walls of our dining room. "No more fighting!" he went on. "I asked the two of you for just one civil weekend, just one, so that I could make my announcement to your oldest daughter. But apparently you can't even keep from arguing for two days!"
I stared at Alex. "Announcement? What announcement?" I asked.
Alex's gaze shot towards me, as if he had forgotten for a moment that I was even at the table. "Well, this certainly isn't how I wanted to ask," he said, his voice slightly calmer as he looked at me instead of my parents. "But considering the way things have been going, maybe I should just go for it before things get any worse."
"Ask what?" I had no idea what was going on. I shot a quick glance at my parents. My mother was still glaring hotly at my father, her lips pressed together into a thin line of disapproval, while my father buried himself in his food.
Pushing back his chair, Alex stood up, walking around the table to me. "Danielle, I wanted us to spend this Christmas with your parents, because I had to ask them for their blessing," he said, smiling at me. I noticed that his hand was dipping into one of his pockets, where there was a square bulge. My brain slowly began to put together what was happening, but he was still talking.
"We've been dating for nearly two years, now, and they've been the best years of my life," Alex went on. "I couldn't imagine my life without you, and you understand me like nobody else. The best part of my morning is waking up next to you, and I spend every second of my time at work looking forward to when I come home to lie next to you at night."
Pulling out the small square box from his pocket, Alex sank down to one knee in front of me, next to my seat at the table. "Danielle, I love you," he said earnestly, gazing up into my eyes.
I opened my mouth, gasping, trying to find words to speak, but my mind was totally blank. "Eep," I managed to squeeze out. For some strange reason, I could feel a couple of tears welling up in my eyes, and I tried to blink and hold them back.
Alex popped open the box, and I stared in open-mouthed amazement at the brilliant, glittering diamond ring. "Danielle," he said, his eyes on my face. "Will you marry me?"
I sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. "Yes, yes, of course I will!" The words came out in a rush, and I could no longer hold back the tears; I sobbed slightly as Alex, wearing a grin that stretched from ear to ear, removed the ring from its box and slipped it onto my shaking, trembling finger. He rose up from his position on his knees, and I stood and threw my arms around him. I buried my face in his shoulder, not caring as my tears soaked his sweater and my arms tightened around him until I knew that he could barely breathe.
When we finally broke away, we turned towards my parents, still seated at the dinner table and watching us. My dad was smiling at us, but his expression looked slightly wistful. My mom, on the other hand, still wore a slight frown. She was the first to open her mouth.
"Well, congratulations," she said, her tone slightly petulant. "I suppose this will be the night for announcements, after all."
"Announcements?" I repeated. What in the world was she talking about?
Instead of replying right away, my mom turned and shared a long, meaningful look with my dad. I looked up at Alex, but he also had a confused expression on his face. This clearly wasn't part of his plans.
"Danielle, honey," my mother said, leaning forward and setting down her fork and knife, "your father and I have not been happy for a while. We have been trying to work things out, but some of us just haven't put in as much effort, and it hasn't been successful." Her glare left no doubt as to which person hadn't put in the necessary amount of effort.
My father interrupted with a loud sigh. "Danielle, your mother and I are getting a divorce," he said directly. Announcement made, he picked up his utensils and returned to his plate of food.
I sank back into my chair in shock as Alex awkwardly also resumed his seat. I felt as though my brain had completely shut down, and I couldn't even tell what I was feeling. The rest of the meal was consumed in silence, the only noise the clinking of silverware. I could feel the weight of the ring on my finger, and I smiled every time I glanced at Alex, but I couldn't respond to my parents' announcement, and left the room in silence once I had finished eating.
Later, as Alex and I lay in bed, I propped myself up on one arm so I could gaze down at the man who was now my fiance. "Are you sure you're aware of what you're getting yourself into with me?" I asked Alex, rubbing one hand over his chest in the darkness.
Alex, also still awake, slid his hand up to cover mine, our fingers intertwining. "Trust me, I know exa
ctly what I'm getting myself into," he murmured into my ear, pulling me in closer.
"Oh, just wait," I said, temporarily holding back. "You haven't met the rest of my family yet. There's plenty more crazy still to come."
"Not to worry, my dear Danielle," Alex told me, pulling me in close and planting a kiss on my cheek as I pretended to struggle. "Whatever they throw at us, I can handle."
Despite my futile struggles, Alex planted another kiss on me. With a slight cry of pleasure, I gave in, and turned around to let his arms slide around me.
The Divorce
*
The next couple of weeks alternated between feeling like a dream and a nightmare. At work, and out with my friends, I was in heaven. I got to show off my new ring at every opportunity, watching my friends drool over it and excitedly squeal about how lucky I was to have met such a perfect man. My best friend, Claire, didn't hesitate to drag me up to anyone that I even remotely knew, making sure that they learned that I was off the market. I shared my engagement story over and over, quickly adapting a rhythm and flow from the repeated tellings, although I was careful to not include the little irritating detail of my parents' divorce.
Many of my coworkers were brimming with congratulations, but none more so than my cubicle mate, Judy. Judy was an older woman who sat across from me. Her style of decor that accumulated around her computer provided an instant view of the type of woman she was - one with a love of snow globes, as well as a determined but ultimately futile effort to knit. Mostly, she knit tea cozies, even if that wasn't her original intent upon starting. In Judy's hands, everything turned to tea cozies.
Judy was unmarried, but never complained about men in the slightest, and I somehow got the vague impression that she was juggling several suitors. But she oohed and aahed over my ring, giving me random hugs in the middle of the day and sending a nearly constant stream of wedding-related links my way in dozens of emails. With her around, life at work was bearable.
